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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458692">you're the breeze in my austin nights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumbly/pseuds/bumbly'>bumbly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:48:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,322</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumbly/pseuds/bumbly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The power goes out in the apartment, and Dave makes a confession.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/Dave Strider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you're the breeze in my austin nights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so the power was out in my house for over 24 hours and somewhere in there, this happened! it's basically just, like, classic brodave fluff because it is 2012 in my heart :)</p>
<p>cw: dave is thirteen here, but i didn't tag underage because there's just kissing/some vague allusions to sexual stuff. there's also a brief mention of both bro and dave drinking beer, but no one actually gets drunk.  </p>
<p>have fun!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dave is in the middle of the week’s third McConaughey debate with John when the power goes out. His computer screen goes dark just in time for him to catch Bro’s silhouette reflected in it, and he turns towards the doorway. </p>
<p>“Sup?” </p>
<p>“Power’s out,” Bro says, like Dave wouldn’t have realized that his computer and the lights in his room both just shut off. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I noticed,” Dave says. “Any idea why?”</p>
<p>Bro shrugs. “I mean, it’s January, so maybe ice or some shit? I dunno, but I’m gonna round up some candles and flashlights in case it’s out for a bit.”</p>
<p>Dave knows by now that that means that he is <i>also</i> going to round up some candles, so he slides out of his chair and starts looking around his room. By the time he heads into the living room, he’s found a flashlight that doesn’t work, a sonic screwdriver keychain that lights up at the end when he holds its button down, and a half-melted candle. </p>
<p>He drops his offerings on the coffee table next to the three candles Bro’s already placed down, then drops himself onto the futon. Bro comes in from the kitchen a moment later, drops one more flashlight on the table, and picks up the keychain. “The fuck is this?” </p>
<p>“Sonic screwdriver,” Dave says. “It’s kinda shit, but I figured it’s better than nothing.” </p>
<p>Bro presses the button and points the light down at the floor for a moment, then shrugs and drops it back on the table. “Cool.”</p>
<p>He sits down on the futon as well, one full cushion separating him and Dave, and Dave tries not to think too hard about the distance. There’s kind of a whole list of things that Dave tries not to think too hard about these days, and as it stands, most of them relate to Bro in some way. Like Bro’s hands, or the way he looks when he comes out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist, or his face when he’s standing over Dave, his sword inches away from Dave’s face, or the small, probably ironic smiles of approval he gives Dave when he does well in a strife or puts out a particularly good SBaHJ comic. It’s kind of a long list. </p>
<p>But Dave’s not thinking about anything on it, or at least, he’s trying really, really hard not to. Bro’s <i>Bro</i>, after all. For one, he’s so far out of Dave’s league that they’re essentially playing completely different sports. Like, Bro is playing professional football, but it’s a special kind of football where the players have to be insanely hot to even be allowed to try out, and Dave is on a Little League team where no one even knows how to hit a ball or what a bat is, because isn’t that some sort of nocturnal animal? And of course, that’s only exaggerated by the fact that Dave is thirteen and Bro is thirty, and, oh yeah, they’re <i>brothers</i>. </p>
<p>So, yeah. Dave’s trying not to think about the thing that he refuses to call a crush because that’s embarrassing as hell. Normally, it’s easy to ignore it, because he and Bro tend to just kind of do their own thing, but now they’re just sitting in the living room together and it’s not like Dave has anything else to do, so he just sits and watches as Bro grabs his sewing kit from under the futon and starts working on a lump of yellow fabric that looks suspiciously smuppet-shaped. </p>
<p>The way Bro’s hands move as he pushes and pulls the needle through the fabric and the pin he’s holding between his teeth are both things on Dave’s list of things that he’s not thinking about, so Dave grabs a crumpled takeout receipt off of the pile on the coffee table and one of the pens Bro uses to trace patterns and forces himself to focus on sketching out some ideas for the next SBaHj. He doesn’t usually plan them out, but he needs to do something other than just watching Bro, and almost all of his usual distractions require an Internet connection that’s currently out of the picture. </p>
<p>Dave sketches, Bro sews, and the afternoon passes slowly into evening. They don’t talk, but that’s a bit of a relief for Dave. Not talking means he can focus on trying to make his drawings look as shitty as possible, and it makes things feel a little more normal. He doesn’t remember the last time they just sat in the same room together like this, outside of some dinners and the occasional movie night that’s not so much a movie night as Bro watching a movie and leaving enough room on the futon for Dave to sit down too, if he wants. It’s nicer than Dave would prefer to admit. </p>
<p>It gets cooler as the sun sets, though, with the heat off and even Texas giving into the January air, so once Dave starts shivering, he slips into his room to grab a sweatshirt. When he comes back, Bro’s lit the candles, casting the living room in a soft, flickering light. Bro’s shades are hooked on the front of his shirt, which is a sight that Dave literally never sees. It trips him up for half a second, seeing Bro’s eyes in the warm light, but he’s a Strider, he’s cool, so he pretends not to notice as he sits back down and takes his shades off as well, because to be fair, it’s dark as shit. </p>
<p>Bro doesn’t look up as Dave sits back on the futon. “You cold?” </p>
<p>Dave shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt in case Bro can seem them shivering, because reacting to anything around you goes against the very basis of being a cool guy. “Nah,” he says. “I mean, I’m not, like, sweating my balls off or anything, but I’m cool.” </p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” Bro says. He’s quiet for a moment longer, and Dave figures that’s going to be the end of it, but then he puts the smuppet he’s working on down on the coffee table and says, “Kinda doubt anyone’s gonna be delivering tonight, looks like this shit’s all over the city, so dinner’s pretty much whatever you can find.” </p>
<p>That’s weird. Bro knows that Dave can handle finding food himself most of the time, whether that means searching through the boxes of Chinese takeout on the kitchen counter or making a quick trip down to the cornerstore with the cash Bro leaves on his desk every week; he doesn’t usually do anything that might make him seem too parental. </p>
<p>“That’s cool,” Dave says. “I think there’s some stale Doritos left, you want any?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Bro says. He picks up the smuppet again, which is a pretty clear sign that Dave will be getting the Doritos, which Dave doesn’t mind. An excuse to be out of Bro’s immediate vicinity for a minute or so is something he’ll take when his brain is being the specific brand of stupid that it’s being right now, which is the brand of stupid that says that Bro wouldn’t send him directly to the rooftop if he tried to, like, cuddle him for warmth or something equally dumb. </p>
<p>A couple of ninja stars fall out of the cabinet when Dave opens it, but he avoids them easily. The bag of Doritos is even less full than Dave remembers it being, but since he doesn’t really feel like finding what other miscellaneous weapons Bro has hidden throughout the kitchen, he figures it’ll work. </p>
<p>“You want a beer?” Dave calls. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Bro says. “You can have one too.” </p>
<p>“Fuck yeah,” Dave says under his breath. He grabs two beers off the counter, figuring that they’ll be cool enough from sitting out in the apartment without heat, and heads back into the living room. </p>
<p>Bro grunts something that Dave figures is a thank you when Dave passes him the beer, and Dave nods in response because look at that, he can do the cool nonverbal communication thing too. </p>
<p>They eat in silence. The quiet of the apartment is starting to set Dave a little on edge: normally, it’s never quiet in here. The heat and AC both clank and hum like hell when they’re on, Bro likes to turn the volume up to an absurd level when he plays video games or music, and cars are usually speeding by outside of the windows. But tonight, it’s just quiet. Quiet, cold, and colder so as the evening rolls on into night. The beer is warm in Dave’s gut, which helps a little, but he’s still starting to shiver again. </p>
<p>“You cold?” Bro asks again, at some point. Dave’s watch says that it’s nine pm, but it tends to be an unreliable piece of shit, so he can’t really say for sure. </p>
<p>Dave shrugs. “Like I said earlier, I’m not about to go dunk myself in a pool, all like, fuck, get me one of those shitty freezy pops that they put in those giant cardboard bins at the grocery store and a hot lifeguard to watch me and make sure I don’t drown from how hard I’m chilling out in this water, that’s for sure.”</p>
<p>“So you’re cold,” Bro says, with more patience than he usually has for Dave’s rambling. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I guess,” Dave says. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, careful not to knock over any of the candles, and glances at Bro out of the corner of his eye for a moment before remembering that his shades are off, which means that Bro can see him looking. “Better out here than in my room, though, ‘s cold as shit in there.” </p>
<p>Bro is quiet for a moment. He’s started on another smuppet, this one a dark blue, and he’s sewing it without really looking when Dave dares another glance over at him. “Makes sense,” he finally says. “Main heat’s in here, and you’ve got more windows in there.” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Dave says. There’s … okay, well, disclaimer, he’s almost definitely reading into shit here, but he <i>swears</i> Bro sounds different, somehow. His tone usually manages to be somewhere directly between flippant and thought-out, but tonight it seems to be leaning towards the latter, like he’s being careful of something. Like he’s trying to say something but hasn’t quite gotten to the point yet.</p>
<p>But then Bro falls silent again, seemingly concentrating on stitching up the smuppet’s back. Dave has just started to mentally berate himself for projecting his own stupid, stupid bullshit onto Bro when he speaks up again. “You wanna stay out here tonight?” </p>
<p>Dave blinks once, twice, three times. “Out here?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, on the futon. Pretty sure this isn’t rocket science, kid.” </p>
<p>“But where are you going to sleep?” Dave blurts, before he can realize how stupid he sounds and stop himself. Yeah, Bro just loves when Dave questions him, great going there! Now he’s probably going to tell Dave that he can just deal with it and stay in his own room, and honestly, that’s probably the better outcome. Sometimes it hurts Dave’s head a little to just sit on the futon when he knows it’s where Bro sleeps and maybe, y’know, does other things, and sleeping on it, especially tonight, would probably just fucking obliterate the Not Thinking About It list. </p>
<p>“On the futon,” Bro says, like it’s obvious. “It’s not like you take up much of any space.” </p>
<p>On the - oh. Oh. Bro is suggesting that they sleep on the futon <i>together</i>? Goodbye, Not Thinking About It list, it took a wrong turn into a field filled with shitty, Freudian landmines, and the poor fucker’s been blown sky high. The futon is pretty small, as they go, and Bro is <i>not</i> pretty small, and the only configuration of them both getting horizontal on this thing is going to be, like, a dangerously close to spooning situation. Well, that’s something to think about.</p>
<p><i>No, it’s not</i>, Dave tells his brain sternly. Jesus. Sure, maybe he has something like a crush on Bro, but that’s - like, shoving that down is nothing new. And it’s not like Bro is trying to do or suggest anything, he’s just being a decent guardian. Honestly, sharing a bed, especially when the power’s out and it feels like it’s getting colder by the minute, is textbook family behavior. Not for the Striders, sure, at least not since Dave was a little kid, but for normal people, this shit is like everyday, probably. Dave can handle it. He can act normal for one night, especially since Bro seems to be putting in some effort to be something like a normal parental figure instead of a cool roommate. </p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s cool,” Dave says. “Like penguins or some shit.”</p>
<p>“Like… penguins.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, like, huddling for warmth? I think it’s penguins that do that.” </p>
<p>Bro doesn’t laugh, because he’s Bro, but he makes a quiet breath of sound that Dave is 90% sure is meant to indicate amusement. Okay, first off, hell yeah, and second off, it’s getting harder and harder for Dave to make himself deny that <i>something</i> is different tonight. Bro doesn’t think Dave’s funny, he doesn’t offer to share his space because Dave’s room is cold, he doesn’t let Dave drink outside of what he deems special occasions. With the exception of his habit of walking around in a towel for ages after he gets out of the shower, he pretty much doesn’t do anything that directly encourages Dave’s brain to be a complete fucking idiot. </p>
<p>“Sounds right enough,” Bro says. “You gonna be able to fall asleep soon?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, probably,” Dave says. That’s a lie. He’s going to have to be exhausted to fall asleep that close to Bro, but he can probably fake it, at the very least.</p>
<p>“Cool,” says Bro. “Go get some blankets if you want them, then.” </p>
<p>Dave does, grabbing the two that are tangled in his sheets out of his bed, and when he gets back, Bro takes them from him and tosses them over the futon. The smuppet he was working on and his sewing kit have disappeared, presumably back under the futon, his shades are lying folded next to the pile of flashlights on the coffee table, and the light of the candles has been replaced with a smoky scent. Bro looks different, in the moonlight coming in from the windows, less like the mythical cool guy that he is and more just like ... a dude. A really, really attractive one, but just a dude. </p>
<p>It’s weird to think about, the thought warm in Dave’s chest like the alcohol, and the feeling only intensifies when Bro lies down and tugs the blankets over himself. For a moment, Dave is frozen, because there really isn’t a way for them both to fit on there, is there, but then Bro turns onto his side and lifts his arm up and okay, yeah, forget the “dangerously close to spooning” thing Dave was worried about before, this is about to be full-on silverware action. </p>
<p>Dave slides under Bro’s arm as carefully as he can. There’s a feeling in his chest that he’s going to mess this up somehow, like, if he gets too close, Bro’s going to <i>know</i> somehow, or that Bro somehow already does. </p>
<p>But he ends up on the futon and under the blankets without incident. Bro’s arm settles over his waist naturally, casually, like it’s not taking up every neural pathway that Dave has, and he’s the one that presses close so that his broad chest is against Dave’s back instead of the other way around.  Saying “goodnight” or anything else, really, feels like it would be stupid, so Dave just forces himself to close his eyes and try to think about sleep. It doesn’t work.</p>
<p>The apartment is still unnaturally and uncomfortably quiet, and even with the moonlight filtering in, it’s much darker than it usually is. With all of the normal stimuli gone, the only thing Dave can focus on is Bro’s arm across his waist and the rise and fall of Bro’s chest against his back. </p>
<p>Dave is trying to stay as still as possible. If he moves even an inch, Bro will definitely feel it, and Dave’s still not convinced that he hasn’t gone past the point of not being able to fuck this up. But of course, trying is the operative word and Dave is more than kind of restless on a good day, so it’s only a few minutes before Dave has to readjust his weight. </p>
<p>He shifts, slowly and as subtly as possible, but of course, of <i>course</i>, because the universe hates him, he manages to push his ass directly back into what he’s almost certain is Bro’s crotch. </p>
<p>Well. Forget the almost, because Bro’s breath catches, so softly that there’s no way Dave would have heard in any situation but the one they’re in right now, and that’s not a sound Dave ever really expected to hear, no matter how much he may or may not have imagined it. Just to be sure, though, that it wasn’t a fluke or a coincidence, Dave carefully shifts again. </p>
<p>Bro’s steady breathing hitches again, but the sound is cut off much more quickly this time. His arm twitched, though, just a bit where it’s draped over Dave, and Dave is abruptly stuck by the sense that whatever’s happening here, whatever space this is, there’s no going back from it if he doesn’t shut up and pretend to fall asleep right now. </p>
<p>“Bro?”</p>
<p>Dave’s voice sounds deafening in comparison to the silence both preceding and following it. Bro is quiet for so long that Dave starts to think he might actually be asleep, but then, “Yeah, little man?”</p>
<p>Dave opens his mouth only to find that he has no idea what he was going to say. <i>Hey, I kinda want to mack on you despite the million reasons why that shouldn’t happen?</i> Jesus. Maybe the precipice he built up in his head was actually bullshit, and maybe he can just pretend to go to sleep and they can pretend this never happened.</p>
<p>But then Bro inhales like he’s about to say something, and Dave blurts, “Can I tell you something? Fuck, sorry, not trying to make this, like, some lame ass sleepover thing where we give each other makeovers and gossip or whatever, but, uh, yeah. The telling you a thing, thing. Can I do that?”</p>
<p>This time, there’s only a moment’s pause before Bro says, “Always can, what’s goin’ on?” </p>
<p>“Uh,” Dave says, then mentally kicks himself, because how lame can he get? “I think, like, I think I might be gay.”</p>
<p>Well. Okay, that’s not what he meant to say, not really, but he figured it’s close enough to the truth.</p>
<p>“That’s cool,” Bro says. “I mean, obviously. It’s not like I’m gonna say it’s not.”</p>
<p>Dave laughs in that way that’s not quite a laugh so much as an exhale and tries not to think too hard about the way that Bro’s hand shifts down to rest just above the waistband of his shorts. That’s the end of it, right? Dave came out, check that off the list, and now they can go to sleep and -</p>
<p>“You got a crush?” Bro asks. “Shit, is it that Egbert kid?”</p>
<p>Dave wrinkles his nose, doesn’t think about Bro’s hand or any possible reason why Bro’s asking. He’s just making conversation, never mind the fact that Bro isn’t exactly the conversational type. “Ew, no, it’s not John,” he says. “Like, he’s great, just… y’know, John.”</p>
<p>Bro laughs quietly. It’s not a sound Dave hears often, let alone a sound he’s ever heard pressed up against his back like this, and it sends a warm, syrupy feeling down his spine. “Alright, not John. Who is it then?”</p>
<p>Dave is silent. For all the bravado he definitely had in broaching the subject, he suddenly doesn’t think he can say it. Even with the weird energy of the whole day and the way that the dark, quiet apartment feels a step away from real life, he can’t get the words to form. There’s a long, long pause. </p>
<p>“Dave?” Bro says, carefully, in a tone Dave’s never heard before, and Dave knows like a shock that he <i>knows.</i></p>
<p>He curls in on himself as much as he can without slipping out of Bro’s hold or off of the futon. “Look,” he mumbles, “I - just, ‘m sorry, I know it’s stupid.”</p>
<p>“It’s not stupid,” Bro says, sounding almost reflexive. The words take Dave a moment to process the words because they’re, simply put, not what he was expecting. Bro’s arm is still draped over Dave, heavy and warm and holding just a bit of tension, now, and - “I probably shouldn’t say this, but you’re not so bad yourself, kiddo.”</p>
<p>Once again, the words stick somewhere between Dave’s ears and whatever part of his brain is supposed to turn them into meaning. The moment that they click into place, Dave rolls over so that he’s facing Bro, sure that his poker face is nonexistent but not quite able to care in the dark. “What?”</p>
<p>“You heard me,” Bro says, and okay, maybe turning around was a mistake, because now Dave’s eyes are meeting Bro’s, red to orange in the moonlight, and the hand that’s not resting on Dave’s side is now on his chin, tilting it up just a bit. “Listen, you tell me to stop, and we drop it, cool?”</p>
<p>Dave swallows hard. He feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop or his alarm to go off of or something, but he knows that his dreams are never this detailed. Bro’s callouses are rough against his chin, but his hold is gentle, and Dave feels exposed under his gaze in the second before he realizes that Bro, for maybe the first time that Dave can remember, looks open too. “And if I don’t tell you to stop?” Dave says. The sound barely qualifies as a whisper, but it carries well enough in the silence.</p>
<p>Bro’s eyes crinkle at the corners at he smiles, softly, and that’s such a rare fucking sight that Dave is pretty sure his heart misses more than a few beats. “Well, for starters,” Bro says, “I’m gonna kiss you stupid.” </p>
<p>Before he can think about it too hard, Dave leans in, tilting his head up just a bit more so that Bro barely has to move for their lips to press together, softly at first, Dave pulling away almost immediately to make sure that neither Ashton Kutcher nor an alarm clock is waiting for him. </p>
<p>Bro gives him a moment to breathe before he leans in and kisses Dave again, the hand on his chin sliding around to cup the back of his head and hold him gently, like he’s something worth caring for, and Dave melts into his mouth the best that he knows how to, his hands reaching up to twist into Bro’s starched white polo.</p>
<p>For a moment, it stays chaste, but then Bro nips at Dave’s lower lip. Dave gasps softly, and when his mouth falls open with the sound, Bro holds him closer and slides his tongue into Dave’s mouth, as confident and experienced as he’s been in every one of Dave’s late night fantasies, and Dave can’t decide whether he wants to go limp and let Bro devour him or push Bro’s shoulders down into the futon and act like he knows enough about what he’s doing to take control. </p>
<p>He settles with something in the middle, biting Bro’s lip and getting rewarded with a soft, barely-there sound, then letting out a whine as Bro slides their tongues together in a way that has no right to feel as good as it does. </p>
<p>“Shit, Dave,” Bro murmurs, turning his head to the side so that he can kiss up Dave’s jawline towards his ear. “You okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” Dave says, hoping to god that he sounds more composed than he feels and knowing that he absolutely doesn’t. </p>
<p>“Good,” Bro says. The sound could almost be called a purr, and Dave shivers. Part of him wants - wants Bro to keep kissing him, wants Bro to leave hickeys down his neck and across his collarbones, wants Bro to slide the hand resting carefully on his hip just a little lower - but he’s just had his second kiss ever and everything feels just a little overwhelming as is. “Let’s call it here for tonight, though, don’t want you gettin’ in over your head without at least some time to think it over.” </p>
<p>Dave nods, forces himself to slacken his grip in Bro’s shirt and smooth out the wrinkles as best he can. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he says. </p>
<p>“Good,” Bro says again, and his grin is evident in his voice, even if Dave can’t see it because Bro’s mouth is a little too busy moving over to nip at his ear. “Alright, we should probably get some sleep now, little man. You still gonna be able to fall asleep?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Dave says, trying not to grumble, because he’s pretty sure that he kept his semi far away from Bro’s thigh, so there should be no way for Bro to know what’s going on below his waist.</p>
<p>Bro snorts in a way that means he <i>definitely</i> knows what’s going on below Dave’s waist. Fucker. “Alright, just checkin’,” he says, tousling Dave’s hair. “G’night, dude.”</p>
<p>“G’night,” Dave mumbles back, closing his eyes as he leans his cheek against Bro’s chest. Bro’s arm shifts up to hold him securely around his back, making sure there’s no risk of Dave rolling onto the floor, and after a moment, he rests his chin on top of Dave’s head. Dave is pretty sure that he sleeps the best he ever has.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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